


Out of Jimmy's Body

by Satans_Toothbrush (Scientia_Fantasia)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Body Swap, Case Fic, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-17
Updated: 2012-10-17
Packaged: 2017-11-16 11:49:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,632
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/539106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scientia_Fantasia/pseuds/Satans_Toothbrush
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel abruptly comes back from dealing with Angel Business, and is effectively locked out of his vessel. Dean isn't all that happy with where he turns up, and the ritual takes a bit more time than the ones they're used to. In two words; Body Swap. What more do you really need to know?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Out of Jimmy's Body

**Author's Note:**

> Okay let's be honest here, a fanfiction without a romantic plot to keep it going was next to impossible for me to write, so bear with me here. Also sort of testing the waters, so if this seems like it's supposed to be a part of a bigger story...that's because it is. Maybe I'll get to writing the rest eventually.  
> I was kinda sorta trying to emulate how the actual episodes play out.  
> And I don't have a beta so don't tear me apart too bad.

Three bodies crashed into a forest clearing. One, Sam, stumbled in surprise at the change of scenery, looking around in alarm. Dean nearly mirrored him, but instead of checking the perimeter out of habit, his eyes were drawn to the only other moving figure around; Castiel, clutching his bleeding abdomen and stumbling around, messily dripping blood into various patterns on the trees and grass--barely recognizable protection sigils, circling the clearing.

“What the hell, Cas?” Dean couldn’t help but exclaim, eyes wide and near panicking at the angel’s blood everywhere. The largest wound was on his stomach, sure, but looking closely, cuts were beginning to seep on his visible skin--god knows what was under the layers of clothing, but whatever it was, it was bloody.

Dean didn’t get an explanation. Obviously exhausted, Castiel finished one final sigil, before collapsing on the ground and panting, sweat mixing with blood and staining his clothing. The Winchesters ran over to his aid, not sure what to do with the wounded angel. Usually these things healed, didn’t they? Why weren’t they now?

Dean wasn’t about to wait and find out--he grabbed Castiel’s already tattered shirt and ripped it open as carefully as possible in his rush, the angel waving him away only half-heartedly.

“Woah,” Sam breathed, voicing both of the brothers’ surprise as they stared at the now exposed wounds criss-crossing Castiel’s usually flawless skin--they weren’t normal cuts and bruises. Neither of them were very familiar with Enochian writing, but...it was obvious to both that the angel’s skin has been carved, purposely. The bleeding slices formed a spiral of jagged writing, becoming ever more unintelligible as the blood seeped out across the angel’s skin.

“Dean,” Cas gasped, his hand reaching out and grabbing the hunter’s sleeve, grip weak, especially in contrast to the near-literal iron grip he usually commanded. “I...I need something from you.”  
  
The Winchesters shared a looked, but Dean quickly switched his attention back to Castiel. “Yeah, Cas?” he asked, trying not to look panicked. “C’mon, anything...” he continued in the responding silence.  
  
“Anything?” the angel rasped, the tiniest hint of a pained smile on his face.  
  
“Yeah, of course!”  
  
Castiel seemed pleased with this answer, and for a moment, that was all--he shut his eyes and took a pained breath, before going still.  
  
“...Cas?” Sam asked for the both of them, hand hesitantly moving in front of the angel’s face to check for breath. But before Sam could feel anything definite, Cas stated glowing. And both of the hunters had been through enough of angel stuff to know what that meant--or at least how to prepare for it.  
  
“Eyes--” Dean said automatically, to little use since both of them had shut their eyes and put an arm up in front of them as soon as Cas had decided to become flourescent.  
  
The light lasted maybe a few seconds--it was hard to tell through the adrenaline rush--and then Sam lowered his arm,  no longer seeing red through his eyelids.  
  
“Castiel?” he ventured, eyes first landing on the motionless vessel. He looked past him, expecting to meet a mirrored look of bewilderment on his brother’s face. Instead, he saw Dean sprawled out ungracefully on the ground, making a matching motionless set with Castiel.  
  
Sam looked between the two, heart beating against his chest in remembered panic. Cas being the closest, the Winchester pressed two fingers to the angel’s neck, trying to keep calm when there was no answering pulse. That didn’t necessarily mean anything, since...angel stuff, right?  
  
He stepped around Castiel’s body, keeping his breathing purposely steady, to put his fingers up to Dean’s neck...  
  
But heard a gasp behind him. He whirled around in his crouch, to see Castiel sitting up and wincing, tenderly grasping at his wounds. But something seemed a little...off.  
  
“We need to leave,” said a voice behind him--Dean’s voice--and Sam turned to look at him, blinking in confusion. The voice may have sounded like Dean’s, but there was something different about it. Twenty-something years of experience made it pretty easy to tell.  
  
And that was when, behind him, Cas--Or, Cas’ body--cried out.  
  
“Son of a _bitch_!”

* * *

  
  
An hour or so later found Castiel--or Dean? Yeah, it was actually Dean--sitting on a ratty motel bed, scowling, and in the process of bandaging up the various markings on his skin, more to cover them than for any medical purpose. They seemed to have stopped bleeding, but all the marks had turned black against his skin. There was no way people weren’t going to remember a guy looking like that, and ‘memorable’ wasn’t really something that Winchesters wanted to be. Castiel--in Dean’s body--was frowning, half at Dean and half into the middle distance.  
  
Sam was sitting around trying not to laugh at the absurdity of the matter.  
  
“My apologies, Dean,” Castiel said, voice straining low against Dean’s already gruff vocal chords.  
  
“Yeah, I don’t think ‘sorry’ is gonna cut it, Cas,” Dean said, wincing as he pulled a bandage tight. “I thought I had to agree to this shit.”  
  
Sam’s mouth twitched in a suppressed smile at a curse coming from Castiel’s mouth.  
  
“You said you would do anything I needed. I took that as a blanket permission.”  
  
“So you just stuck me in the body that was experiencing agonizing pain? What the hell does that even solve?! Why couldn’t _you_ just--”  
  
“ _Dean_.”  
  
Castiel frowned, clenching his fists at his side. It was a subtle show of annoyance, but Dean nevertheless gave Castiel his attention.  
  
“I’ve apologized. I’d appreciate it if you dropped the subject. The wounds are hurting you, and that’s regrettable, but if I had stayed in that vessel much longer, I would have _died_.”  
  
The angel stalked over, and grabbed Dean’s unbandaged arm, ignoring his scowl of pain. When he let go, he turned his hand upwards--revealing a burn on his palm in reflection of the marks on Dean’s arm.  
  
The burns soon faded away, but Castiel had made his point. Dean dropped the subject, reluctantly.  
  
Castiel went back to standing off to the side, crossing his arms in concentration.  
  
Dean made a mocking face at him.  
  
And that was it--Sam couldn’t take it anymore. He let out a bark of laughter, earning a glare from his brother and the angel.  
  
“Sorry, sorry,” he said, covering his mouth and trying to fight back his laughter. “This whole thing is just ridiculous. I never knew your face could actually make expressions, Cas...!”  
  
“Tch--bitch,” Dean spat, automatically. But this only served to make Sam start laughing again.  
  
“Sam,” Castiel said, calmly, though cutting through the hunter’s laughter.  
  
“Hm? Yeah?” Sam said, raising his eyebrows, trying to ignore the weirdly familiar feeling of being commanded by his brother. It’d been a while since Dean needed to use that tone with him...and, well, he supposed it’d be a while still, since this was Castiel and all.  
  
“We need to talk,” Cas said, simply. “Somewhere else.”  
  
“Hey, whatever you have to say, you can say in front a’ me,” Dean protested, tying off the end of a bandage. Cas turned and glared at him, and surprisingly, Dean turned away. Apparently there was a certain discomfort that come from being reprimanded by your own face.  
  
“Stay here,” Castiel commanded, before fixing Sam with a pointed look and leaving the room. The younger Winchester sent his brother a silent apology before getting up and following the angel out.  
  
“Dean’s not in trouble, is he?” Sam asked as soon as they were out of earshot, shutting the door behind him.  
  
“No,” answered Cas, to Sam’s relief. But then, “As long as we act quickly.”  
  
When he didn’t offer an explanation, Sam pushed for one. “If we don’t?”  
  
Castiel looked down at the hands that he wasn’t used to having, and sighed.  
  
“Do you remember how Lucifer’s vessel looked?” the angel asked, looking up at Sam,  apologetic at bringing up the memory.  
  
“Yeah. Like he was burning up? But...Dean is Michael’s vessel, right? That’s not going to happen to him, is it?”  
  
Castiel’s frown really said it all.  
  
“He is Michael’s vessel, yes. But my vessels are in the Novak bloodline, not yours. It will be very difficult to limit myself and avoid damaging your brother...I’m sorry.”  
  
“Like...how difficult?” Sam asked, afraid of the answer.  
  
Castiel looked back at his hands, turning them over to examine them for a moment. Then he tugged up the sleeve of Dean’s overshirt, revealing the already damaged flesh on the pale underside of his arms, purple or even black bruises blooming and flesh threatening to peel off.  
  
“Shit...” Sam breathed, eyebrows raised--Castiel moved to pull the sleeve back down, but before he could, the door behind them flew open. Dean was standing there in alarm, shirtless but bandaged.  
  
“What?” he demanded. “What’s Cas doing? You can’t just not tell me!”  
  
Sam sighed, running a hand through his hair as Castiel pulled his sleeve over the bruising to conceal it.  
  
“It’s _my_ body, Cas,” Dean insisted, taking a step towards him. “Just show me. I’m not gonna freak out.”  
  
Castiel glanced at Sam, who couldn’t do anything but shrug. As far as he was concerned, it was the angel’s decision.  
  
Apparently making his choice, Castiel stepped over to Dean and pulled the sleeve back up, revealing...mild bruising. Not the dark, almost-rot that he’d shown Sam.  
  
He quickly pulled the sleeve back down.  
  
“Okay,” said Dean, crossing his arms. “So my body’s not gonna hold up that long. We just solve the problem quickly, okay?”  
  
“Exactly,” Castiel said, stone faced.  
  
“I don’t wanna have ta’ shower in this thing, anyways,” Dean grumbled, excusing himself back to the other room to continue licking his wounds.  
  
“...Cas...” Sam said, cautiously. “What was that?”  
  
The angel sighed, his expression of weariness one that Sam was quite familiar with on either of his family member’s faces.  
  
“I don’t want to worry him. I can expend energy to heal myself, but only temporarily.”  
  
Sam bit his tongue, deciding not to argue. If everything went well, then they wouldn’t have to worry about it anyways.  
  
And when did anything ever go wrong with the Winchesters?  


* * *

  
  
Castiel left soon after their talk, going God-knows-where to do what he only described as “research”. Dean wasn’t too happy about the angel making off with his body, but since he only found out after the fact, there wasn’t much he could do about it.  
The Winchesters eventually fell asleep, Dean more “eventually” than Sam. Forget the fact that he was covered in cuts and bruises--he’d fallen asleep with worse--the fact that he was dealing with a whole different _bone structure_ had him tossing and turning for hours, and his dreams were weird in a way that he was sure Sam would just love to psychoanalyze. So he made sure not to mention it.  
  
It had to have been around five in the morning when Dean _stubbornly_ got up to take a morning piss and came back out to see himself flipping through a few ancient-looking books on the table.  
  
“None of those’re bound in human skin, right?” he joked groggily, running a hand through unfamiliar hair.  
  
Castiel glanced at him in quick acknowledgement before turning back to his work.  
  
“No,” he said, simply. Then, “Would you wake up Sam? I need his help.”  
  
Dean crossed his arms, looking as defiant as possible running on his few hours of sleep. “What can he do that I can’t?”  
  
“Botany.”  
  
Dean bristled slightly, but gave in, going over and tugging on his brother’s foot.  
  
“Sammy,” he said, gruffly, voice nearly mistakable for Castiel’s own, “The angel needs your flower stuff.”  


* * *

  
  
It wasn’t too long afterwards that saw the three of them sitting around a table, doing research as normal--though Dean’s relaxed sprawl and Castiel’s stiff posture were a bit more entertaining than usual, and the books...well, Sam couldn’t help but get distracted.  
  
“Where did you _get_ these?” he asked, gaping at some cover or diagram or whatever. “They’re amazing! I didn’t know that humans even had this kind of information...?”  
  
“The Library of Alexandria,” Cas answered, the tiniest hint of a smile on his face. “I don’t think they’ll be missed.”  
  
Dean might have chosen to tease his two nerdy companions, but...even he had to admit, that was pretty cool.  
  
Though he was definitely keeping that to himself.  
  
“Oh, hey,” Sam spoke up, pushing a tome towards Cas. “Is this what you’re looking for?”  
  
The angel pulled the book over, and skimmed over the page, dragging a finger down it.  
  
“Yes, I believe it is,” he concluded, scribbling down a note on a notebook next to him--purely for the Winchester’s benefit, of course. Then he paused, examining the little that he wrote.  
  
“This should be all,” he said after a moment, nodding in his own confirmation.  
  
“That’s it?” Dean said, leaning over to spy on Castiel’s notes. “I thought you said this ritual was complicated. This is like...” the hunter reached over and grabbed the notepad, looking over the almost mechanical penmanship. “Two things? Really?”  
  
“No,” said Castiel. “Those are just the items that I can’t get. So the responsibility falls to you two.”  
  
Sam frowned, finally looking up from the book he was enamored with. “Why can’t you get them?”  
  
“Because I’m an angel. The ritual is...rigged against me. It’s fortunate you two are more than competent, or else it’s likely I’d be stuck like this.”  
  
“Oh...uh...what’re we going to have to do?”  
  
Castiel, after a moment, shrugged.  
  
“What...what do you mean you don’t know?” Dean exclaimed. “We’ve been looking all this shit up and you still don’t even know where to find it?”  
  
Castiel bristled, obviously upset at his lack of knowledge being brought to light. “This is one of the few rituals I’m not familiar with. Whoever attacked me obviously knew of my _extensive_ knowledge and chose a curse that would be troublesome for me.”  
  
Sam frowned, and moved to speak up--’whoever’ attacked Cas? How could the angel not know who it was?--but Castiel went on before he could, with an air about him that made Sam think maybe he’d interrupted on purpose.  
  
“Fortunately, I have you two to help me. Now that I’ve determined the ingredients necessary for the counter-curse,” he tapped the book under his hand, “We just need to locate them. I can collect the vast majority, but for those two,” the angel nodded towards the list, “they’re not safe in their raw state for an angel to be near. They may not be deadly, but...”  
  
“Better safe than sorry,” Sam agreed.  
  
“So, you’re gonna look for your stuff, and we just need to find these two to get me back in my body?” Dean clarified.  
  
“Precisely. And when you locate it, I’ll get you as close as I can to the location.”  
  
“Why can’t I just take my baby?”  
  
“You don’t have a _license_ , Dean,” Sam pointed out, rolling his eyes. “Or at least not while you look like Cas.”  
  
“And the objects may be out of the continental United States,” Castiel added, nodding at Sam’s point nonetheless. “The qeres will most likely be in Egypt. And from what I remember, you aren’t particularly fond of flying, Dean.”  
  
“Tch...shut up.”  
  
Sam decided to ignore their bickering.  
  
“So, this is as much information as you can get us?” he asked, completing the notebook’s rounds by snatching it from Dean.  
  
“I’m afraid so,” Castiel said. “Current locations are best determined by more modern research...you two are more suited to that than I.”  
  
“Well...alright.”  
  
“Guess we should get started, then.”  


* * *

  
  
The first item on their list was apparently a type of orchid. A really particular type that most books only listed under a broader category.  
  
“This stuff only grows at a really high altitude,” Sam said, scrolling through a pdf file of an old book he found. “In...Asia.”  
  
“Can’t we just order it offline or something? There’re places that do that, right?”  
  
“Oh,” went Sam. “Well, no. Apparently it’s got to be ‘free of human contamination’ or whatever...I’m guessing that means we have to go and pick it ourselves.”  
  
“Oh, god dammit,” Dean cursed, scowling. “Cas better be able to get us up that mountain.”  


* * *

 

As it turns out, Castiel couldn't. After finally getting him to come back and help them, he suggested--to Dean's chagrin--that they pack. It was going to be a long hike.

 

* * *

 

Castiel dropped Sam and Dean at the base of the shortest mountain they could find that still fit their requirements. The angel evidently wasn't lying about the allergy thing, because the few seconds he spent there, he spent coughing into his sleeve, before disappearing.

Sam looked up at the mountain, tugging on his backpack straps and sighing. "Well," he said, attempting a smile at Dean. "I guess we'd better get going."

"God,” went the older Winchester, head falling back to complain to the open sky, “I _hate_ hiking."

 

* * *

 

A few hours and more than a few trips and stumbles later, the Winchesters finally decided they should hunker down for the night. Dean was complaining enough about hiking in the daylight, Sam didn’t want to listen to it when it really got dark.

"Why're we even doing this," Dean complained, poking at the small fire that they'd managed to make under an outcropping of rock.

"So you can get your body back?" Sam said, raising an eyebrow. That was obvious, wasn’t it?

"No, but..."

Dean sighed, running a hand through his hair. "You know what? Nevermind. If there’s an answer we’d’ve found it by now."

He flopped down on the rock, pulling his bag under his head and shutting his eyes definitively.

"I know, Dean," Sam went on anyways. "It sucks. But...there're good aspects to it, too..."

Dean peeked an eye open, raising an eyebrow slightly in interest but mostly in disbelief.

"Hey, work with me here." Sam laughed slightly, knowing full well all of this was a bit of a stretch. "We get to work outside, right?"

Dean rolled his eyes.

"Yeah, okay, that was pretty weak. But things aren't _all_ bad. I mean, I get that it sucks for you now, but how many other people get to know what it's like to be in someone else's body?"

The elder Winchester scoffed, but Sam knew he was at least considering the point.

"...guess it is interesting," Dean said, after a moment. "Everything's a slightly different color. And, oh, look what I can finally do--"

He sat up, and leaned over, touching his toes, then leaning a bit _farther_ , before laying back down again, grinning. "Dude's flexible. Never would have guessed with how stiff he always is, huh?"

Sam rolled his eyes, but grinned. "I'm not even going to ask how you figured out you can do that."

"Hey! Who says I don't stretch?"

"Uh...me. And everyone that's ever known you. It's a wonder you haven't pulled something on this hike already."

Dean "hmph"'d, put off, and closed his eyes again. "Whatever, Sammy," he said, shifting to get comfortable. "Go to bed. We're climbing a fucking mountain tomorrow."

 

* * *

  


Fortunately, for Sam's sake, they didn't have to climb the _whole_ mountain, so he didn't have to listen to Castiel's (Jimmy's? Now that's just getting confusing) voice complain all the way up. A few hours into their morning start, they found a patch of flora that Sam insisted on checking out. And, well, Dean wasn't all that inclined to argue. Anything that would end this hike quicker.

Sam had plant duty, since Dean couldn't tell a vine from a tree. He crouched down, comparing different patches of flowers to Castiel's surprisingly detailed diagram while Dean stood by and fidgeted irritably.

"Hey, I think this is it," Sam said, grinning at the plants. "C'mere and see..."

Dean came over reluctantly, leaning over his brother's shoulder.

"You think so?" Sam asked him.

"Dude, I don't know. It looks exactly like all the other purple flowers we’ve seen up here so far."

"Okay, well I think it is."

He pulled a container out of his bag, and dug the plant out carefully, making sure to keep some dirt in there for it.

"One down, one to go," he said, looking fondly at their flower.

Dean sneezed.

 

* * *

  


Back in their motel room, the three sat around the plant, sitting threateningly in a piece of tupperware that had sigils painstakingly copied onto it by Sam, under the instructions of Castiel's notepad.

Dean sneezed again, adding to the pile of tissues growing in the trash can.

"Bless you," Castiel said, obviously appreciating the irony.

"Ugh, screw you, dude," Dean grumbled. "What the hell is even wrong with me? I don't get sick. Ever."

"Maybe you got Jimmy's immune system?" Sam ventured.

“Dude shoulda’ ate his greens,” Dean said.

“I assure you, his diet was perfectly healthy.”

“Well, this cold sure ain’t _my_ fault.”

Sam rolled his eyes, and made a gesture towards one of their duffle bags. “Take your temperature, Dean. I want to make sure this isn’t turning into anything.”

The older Winchester scowled, but did as he was told. After all they’d been through, he wasn’t about to get taken down by a damn flu.

“How’re you holding up?” Sam asked Cas quietly, taking advantage of Dean’s brief absence.

“There’s nothing to worry about,” said the angel. Sam was quick to notice that it wasn’t really a straight answer, but he had no choice but to accept it, due to Dean ambling back with a thermometer steadily beeping in his mouth.

“Sho, wha’s the nesht targe’?” he asked.

“Qeres,” Cas answered, ignoring Dean’s apparent insistence to speak around his thermometer. “It’s an oil that the Egyptians used to use in the mummification process. But...it’s deadly to angels--” both the Winchester’s eyebrows shot up, “--so what little is left will be near impossible for me to get. Under lock and key, for celestial beings, at least. You two may have better luck.”

“We _may_?” Sam asked. Castiel just looked apologetic, and was saved from answering by Dean’s thermometer going off.

Sam grabbed it out of his brother’s mouth before he could say anything.

“...huh,” he went, reading the display.

“‘Huh’?” What’s ‘huh’ mean this time?”

Sam handed it back, shrugging. “98.6. Whatever you’ve got apparently isn’t that serious.”

“So what the hell’s wrong with me!”

“Well, I dunno...allergies? There were a lot of weird plants up on that mountain, maybe Jimmy’s body just wasn’t used to one.”

“...ah,” Castiel said, coming to a quiet conclusion. “I think I know.”

Dean raised an eyebrow. “Uh, well? What is it?”

The angel tapped on Dean’s--currently his own--shoulder, indicating the handprint behind the sleeve.

“When I raised you from hell, I left this handprint, as you know. But along with it, you ended up with an amount of my Grace. Not enough to affect you normally, but this,” Cas nodded at the plant on the table, “May be affecting you. It’s deadly to me, so for you...”

“I get the sniffles?”

Castiel smiled, just slightly. “Yes.”

“So...how do I get better? Prayer?”

The angel’s face dropped back to his neutral expression, obviously a bit more bothered by the comment than Dean had intended.

“No,” he said. “Not anymore. But it may be possible for you to heal yourself.”

Sam looked surprised at that, but Dean spoke up before he could comment.

“What? That’s ridiculous. Why would I still be sick if I could heal myself?”

“Humans can heal plenty of things, if given time,” Sam said, rolling his eyes.

“Yes,” Cas agreed, “though that’s not the issue here.”

Dean raised his eyebrows, prompting Castiel to go on. The angel leaned in, fixing the Winchester with his gaze.

“You can use the Grace I’ve given you to heal minor wounds. This may be a short enough exposure that you can get rid of it.”

Dean scrunched his nose up. “So...am I going to have to access my inner self or something? Because I think I might just deal with the sniffles...”

“It may develop and kill you.”

Sam tried to hold back a grin, amused at Dean getting pushed around, even if it was life-threatening. That wasn’t really anything new.

“Well... _fine_. What do you want me to do, Cas?”

Castiel frowned.

Dean raised an eyebrow, expectant.

“It’s...difficult to explain,” the angel said, looking down at the table in a display of what must have been shame.

“Well, why don’t _you_ just heal me?”

“He’s trying to conserve energy, Dean,” Sam butt in, scowling. “Do you want your body to rot?!”

“Dude, woah,” Dean said, “It’s only been a few days, I still look fine.”

Castiel shifted slightly at the assertion, and Sam definitely wasn’t missing Castiel’s insistence to keep as much skin covered as possible.

“Still, it would be good for you to learn. It may be useful someday.”

Dean sighed, rolling his eyes. “Fine, what do you want me to do, then?”

The angel sat up straighter, demeanor switching to “instruction” mode. “You should be able to locate the sickness inside of you. For this, I imagine it will feel like something near your head or chest.”

“...what?” Dean asked, frowning in confusion.

Castiel grit his teeth, but carried on. “Something like a weed growing in you. Close your eyes and try and locate it in your mind.”

The elder Winchester sent a look towards Sam, expecting a similar ‘what’s this dude’s problem?’ back, but no such luck. Sam just looked at him expectantly.

Dean, though displeased at the lack of support, closed his eyes and tried to do what Cas said.

He was silent for a tense moment, Sam and the angel waiting as if Dean was about to grow another head.

“...you know, I’ve always been more of a tactile sort of guy,” Dean inevitably spoke up.

“I know. But you have to try this.”

Sam raised his eyebrows at that, but kept silent.

Dean crossed his arms and shifted a bit, deciding he might as well concentrate.

“What do I do after I’ve found it,” he asked, sounding a measure less irritated than before.

“Then find my Grace within you.”

“What’s _that_ feel like?”

“Like me.”

Dean peeked an eye open, raising its corresponding eyebrow. “Like you.”

“Yes.”

“Well, that’s helpful.”

Castiel frowned at Dean’s obstinance. “I’m going to assume that was sarcasm. How about you describe how your soul feels to me?”  
“But you’ve seen my soul before.”

“And you have seen my grace. You might not remember yourself, but I assure you your body knows.”

“...so? Your point?”

Sam looked between the two, before butting in. “I think he means he doesn’t know how to explain it,” he ventured. When Castiel didn’t deny it, he carried on. “So...just find something that doesn’t feel like you, I guess.”

“Right, okay. And then I sic Cas’s Grace on the plant thing?”

“That should work,” Castiel said, nodding.

“What, really?”

The angel just shrugged. “If it doesn’t, then we’ll go from there.”

Dean closed his eyes again, attempting to relax. Castiel sat back again, from his lean towards Dean.

“...oh, woah,” breathed Dean, a moment later. “Dude, how much did you leave in here?”

“A miniscule amount.”

The hunter frowned, more in confusion than anything else, and opened his eyes.

“Huh...”

Silence fell for a moment.

“Did...did you do it?” Sam asked, leaning forwards.

“Yeah, I think so,” responded Dean. Though he was staring, quite reverently, at Castiel.

Sam waved a hand in front of his face, which Dean swatted away. “Dude, what’s your problem?”

“You were making cow-eyes at Cas. It was weird.”

“Well, he is pretty handsome, if I do say so myself,” Dean said, smirking, evidently back to his normal self. Or, as much as he could be in this situation.

“Oh, whatever,” his brother said, rolling his eyes. “Are we done with this whole healing thing? We need to find out how to get this qeres.”

“I agree,” Castiel said, nodding dutifully. “I’ll try my best to help wherever possible.”

“Alright, um...I’ll look to see what I can find on the Internet, Dean, you check a few of Dad or Bobby’s contacts to see if they know anything--”

“They’re not gonna believe it’s me if my voice sounds like this.”

“Well, just...say you’re Cas. Or one of our friends, same thing. And, Cas...”

“Yes?”

“Can you tell if qeres is in a building?”

“I should be able to, yes.”

“Alright, so when we get a location, we’ll write it down and you can scout it out...how many buildings do you think you’re up to?”

“Three,” the angel decided, surprisingly fast. “Six, if it’s absolutely necessary. Some may have traps a significant radius around them, so I’d like to avoid guesswork if at all possible.”

“Alright, so, Dean--”

“On it.”

The Winchesters got up, Sam going for his laptop and Dean for their journal.

“And, uh, Cas...” Sam said, turning to him for a moment. “Anything you can do to help. But...take it easy, okay?”

Castiel nodded, but smiled slightly.

“Understood,” he said.

Then, the Winchesters were alone with their research.

 

* * *

  
  
They ended up with five places on their list, most around Europe, one in America. Sam organized them by distance, closest first, and had Dean call Castiel down. (“Why do _I_ always have to do it?” “Because he only comes, like, every third time I try! Just do it, stop whining.”)  
  
The angel took the list, and went to scout out the areas.  
  
“I hope it’s the one in America,” Dean said, crossing his arms--but that’s all the had time to say, before Castiel had reappeared.  
  
“Here,” he said, handing the piece of paper to Dean and looking irritated. The hunter looked down at the list, the third option down having a circle around it.  
  
“Huh. Hey, Sam, where’s this one at?” Dean asked, showing the place to his brother.  
  
“Oh. That’s the one in Prague.”  
  
“Great, okay,” said Dean, looking around. “So what’s the plan? Do we have to go Mission Impossible on this?”  
  
Castiel frowned at the reference, but got the general idea. “It’s unlikely. Museums don’t tend to have high security.”  
  
“Yeah, they don’t really have the money,” Sam confirmed, shrugging. “So, what do you think, Cas? Just our lockpicking kid?”  
  
“It’s...possible, yes. I’m not particularly experienced in this sort of thing.”  
  
“What if we get arrested, though?” Dean asked. “We don’t exactly have enough time to plan this all out.”  
  
“Then I’ll come and get you,” said Castiel, raising an eyebrow. “It’s the museum I’m kept out of, not the jail. And I doubt they’ll recognize you in Europe.”  
  
“Just as long as we still have some qeres on us, right?” Sam clarified, to the angel’s approval.  
  
“And I would suggest you don’t let it touch your brother.”  
  
“Huh? Why, what could happen?” Dean asked, slightly panicked. He didn’t want to die because he’d tripped on something.  
  
“A burn, maybe. Or worse.”  
  
“Worse, like...dead, worse?”  
  
Castiel raised an eyebrow at him. “Since when have you been worried about dying?”  
  
Sam laughed shortly, looking between the two. It was always gratifying to have someone else call Dean out on his shit.  
  
“Who _isn’t_?” the hunter said, scowling and crossing his arms. Completely unconvincingly.  
  
“You, usually,” Sam said, shrugging.  
  
“Oh, now you’re teaming up on me?”  
  
“Yes, apparently,” went the angel, looking pleased.  
  
Dean sent a scowl towards Sam, but being met with a bitch face, gave in.  
  
“Well...if I ruin your body, you’re kind of boned, right?”  
  
“Metaphorically, yes,” the angel said. “I doubt Amelia will appreciate me appropriating her daughter again.”  
  
“Yeah. So...you know. I just don’t want to damage the goods.”  
  
“Then just be careful,” Castiel said, with a slight smile.  
  
“Yeah, yeah,” Dean said, looking away. “Let’s just get this over with. I want my body back.”  
  
“Agreed,” went Castiel, before looking between the two. “Am I needed for anything else?”  
  
“I don’t think so. Breaking into stuff is our area, huh?” Sam said, turning to Dean and smiling.  
  
“Something like that.”  
  
“Very well. You know how to contact me.”  
  
Without even a goodbye, he fluttered off.  
  
“Back to work, then,” Sam sighed. “I’m gonna jump in the shower, though, so--”  
  
“Woah, no. You always use up all the hot water, dude. I’m going first.”  
  
“Well, alright...if you really want to...”  
  
Sam gave him a meaningful look up and down, holding back a smirk.  
  
Dean glanced down at the unfamiliar body, scowling pointedly. “You know what?” he said, stalking over and snatching his duffle bag up. “I don’t even care.”  
  
“Yeah, alright, Dean...”  
  
The elder Winchester shut the bathroom door behind him pointedly.  
  
“Have fun, Dean!”  
  
“Fuck you!”  


* * *

  
  
Confirming their suspicions, Sam and Dean found that the museum in question didn’t exactly have movie-grade security. And if they couldn’t keep a low profile, well...who cared? No one would expect them to jump back to America, especially since they were dead about five times over in any official systems--or, Sam was, at least. With his new face, Dean had grudgingly accepted the duty to stay low-key to make sure Castiel wouldn’t have any trouble in the future, especially after going through all the trouble to get his vessel back.  
  
“Alright, Cas, I think we’re ready,” Dean said to thin air, going over their supplies. Castiel, predictably, appeared moments later.  
  
Sam thought it was interesting how their clothes mirrored each other, Dean hiding the wounds and Castiel hiding...well, Sam could only hope it wasn’t anything much.  
  
“Are you certain?” the angel asked, obviously not familiar with the whole breaking-and-entering process.  
  
“Yep, pretty sure,” Sam answered, hands on his hips. “We’ve broken into more secure places before...”  
  
“Yeah, the hardest part is getting out. We just have to get the oil stuff out of the building and you’ll come get us, right?”  
  
“Nearly,” Castiel said. “There’s a perimeter around the building that will be dangerous for me to enter.”  
  
“So how do we know when we’re out?” Sam asked, frowning. Castiel spotted an open map on the table and turned it to face him.  
  
“I’m fairly certain the barriers extend to here,” he said, motioning a rough circle around the building with his finger.  
  
“So just grab the stuff and run like hell?”  
  
Castiel glanced up at him, amused. “If necessary, yes. I’d hoped you had a bit more planning than that.”  
  
“We do, don’t worry,” Sam said, smiling. “Trust me, we’ve kind of experts.”  
  
“I know,” said the angel, straightening up. “I trust you.”  
  
The Winchesters smiled at this, slinging their bags over their shoulders nearly in unison.  
  
“Ready?” Dean asked, turning to his brother.  
  
“Yep.”  
  
Castiel stepped up to them, pausing a moment for objections, before bringing his fingers up to their foreheads and sending them away, leaving the angel standing alone in the motel room.  


* * *

  
  
Castiel had the foresight to drop the Winchesters in an alleyway near the museum instead of in plain sight. It was dark--as they’d planned--and the general noises of a city surrounded them. It was almost like they’d never left America.  
  
Dean blinked a few times in the darkness, frowning.  
  
“You okay?” Sam asked.  
  
“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine...this guy’s night vision just sucks, okay?”  
  
“Want a flashlight?”  
  
Dean scowled, hiking his bag up his shoulder. “I’m fine,” he insisted, “let’s get this job over with.”  
  
Sam had his doubts, but continued on regardless, moving over and peering beyond the alleyway.  
  
“All clear,” he said, turning back to his brother briefly before continuing on. Dean followed, hand hovering over his weapon, a bit jumpy--more over being in the wrong body than the actual mission itself. It was impossible to predict stupid things that would make him slip up, and it was grating on his nerves a little.  
  
“Is there _anyone_ here?” Dean hissed, when they’d managed to cozy up to one of the museum’s outside walls. “Shouldn’t they have someone on the perimeter?”  
  
“Yeah...it seems almost--”  
  
“Do _not_  say ‘too easy’. Nothing is _ever_ easy in our life.”  
  
“Okay, okay...”

They rounded over to the back door, and Sam messed with the lock as Dean kept a lookout.

"Shouldn't you be doing this?" Sam grumbled. "You always were better at lockpicking than me."

"Yeah, well, currently I have someone else's hands, so I’d rather not."

The younger Winchester grunted in response, fiddling with the lock--when Dean heard a noise, turning to face it without even thinking, training his pistol at the disturbance.

"Keep going," he told Sam.

There wasn't a chance for the younger Winchester to complain about being ordered around--Dean turned on his heel again completely out of instinct, coming face to face with a snarling security guard, baton at the ready.

"Christ...!" Dean cursed--causing the guard, startlingly, to pause, his eyes going dark.

"Demons, Sammy!" Dean warned, backing away--his gun wasn't going to be much use now, and he didn't think Jimmy would be much use in a fight.

Sam immediately abandoned the lock and jumped in front of Dean to pull their knife out for confrontation.

The demon was hesitant--the Winchesters obviously had a reputation in the Underworld--and Sam knew better than to let that opening go, feigning once before cleanly stabbing the demon through the heart. Dean, meanwhile, was keeping an eye out behind them, though there wasn't much he could do if there were more spooks.

"Shit," he cursed, hearing the assaulter drop to the ground behind him, "Why're there demons involved in this? I thought this was a low-down angel thing?"

“You think I know?” Sam said, glancing at him. “Get the door.”  
  
The younger Winchester held the knife at the ready, clearly planning on confronting any other demons that decided to show up.  
  
Dean immediately attended to the tools hanging out of the lock, figured out where Sam had left off, and got to work--it was a bit weird using someone else’s hands, but Dean was the kind of person that worked better under pressure. It wasn’t long after that he pulled the door open--no demons on the inside of it, at least--and the winchesters filed in, arms at the ready.  
  
They passed by a few security cameras in the hallway. Dean ducked down a little to hide his face, but they were kind of more worried about demons at that point.  
  
They also encountered a patrol, but managed to sneak up behind and incapacitate them for the time being, the guards apparently still human, and slipped by. Not too long later, they walked into the main exhibit room--the hunters were a bit jumpy, due to the wide space featuring many a hiding spot for baddies, but it wasn’t anything particularly new.  
  
Sam glanced at Dean, who nodded, understanding and going over to the indicated display as Sam covered his back.  
  
“Should I smash it?” Dean wondered out loud, considering the glass.  
  
“Is there a lock?”  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
“Well, no, just pick it, then...”  
  
“Fine, fine...”  
  
Dean picked out the right tools, and set them in the lock---  
  
“Shit--no, smash it, just smash it!”  
  
The elder Winchester glanced up briefly, just in time to see a set of demons stepping up to every exit and looking pretty damned pleased with themselves, some pointing guns unsteadily at the boys.  
  
Dean whirled around and smashed the butt of his pistol into the glass, cracking it, and once again to shatter the window, immediately causing an alarm to wail, and the demons took that opportunity to either shoot or charge towards the hunters in the confusion. Sam ducked behind a display case, and Dean made a grab at the container in the smashed display, snatching it before joining his brother.  
  
“Are we running?” Dean yelled over the fire.  
  
“Yeah, we’re definitely running!”  
  
They looked around, quickly figuring out the easiest plan of escape--a sloppily abandoned doorway, that hopefully didn’t lead deeper into the building. But hey, anything was better than a room full of gunfire. Both the brothers looked at  each other, but it was obvious they’d come up with identical escape plans. With a curt nod and and a short wait for a break in the gunfire, they got up and ran, Sam barreling down the demons in their way and Dean clutching the container of qeres for dear life. Somehow, their haphazard charge was successful.  
  
“Dude,” Sam breathed, once they were safely in the dark hallway and were darting slightly less urgently towards an exit. Dean glanced at him, then followed his gaze downwards to his bleeding leg.  
  
“Oh, shit,” Dean cursed, gritting his teeth at the realization of the pain.  
  
“Are you okay?”  
  
“Yeah, yeah, let’s just--get to Cas, alright?”  
  
Sam decided there wasn’t much point in arguing, as they found a door that thankfully opened from the inside. They kicked it open in their rush--which worked out perfectly, the door smashing right into the demon guarding it and knocking it off its feet. The Winchesters hardly even took notice, just ran out of the building and sprinted away as fast as possible, gunfire now trailing at their feet.  
  
“Cas!” Dean yelled into thin air, “We’re out! Come get us...!”  
  
For a terrifying moment--a quick glance behind them revealed what looked like a squadron of demons chasing after them--it seemed like Castiel wasn’t going to show. But after a tense few yards of running, Sam and Dean suddenly blinked out of existence--and came back to a rough landing on their motel room floor, Castiel standing over them.  
  
“Are you both alright?” the angel asked, clinically looking them both over before his eyes found the jar they’d gotten into this mess for.  
  
“I think so,” Dean answered, sitting up and clutching his head, setting the container of qeres in his lap for the moment. Angel transport always got him all kinds of messed up.  
  
Sam glanced at him disbelievingly. “Yeah, except your leg!”  
  
Castiel raised his eyebrows in slight surprise, before crouching down and easily ripping open the stained pant leg, to Dean’s slight protest.  
  
“You don’t have to doctor me, dude, I’ve done this plenty of ti--jesus FUCK--!”  
  
Castiel looked up from Dean’s leg, bloody bullet now held between two fingers. “Now you’re fine,” he said, smirk apparent in his eyes.  
  
Dean scowled, clutching at his injury as Sam tried not to laugh. “No more sticking fingers where they don’t belong,” the hunter huffed, examining the wound. The wound that, weird enough, seemed to be healing over.  
  
“You put a little bit of mojo on it too?” Dean asked, picking a piece of torn--now dead--skin off.  
  
“No,” said Castiel, simply. “I just encouraged what you already have.”  
  
Dean frowned, sitting on the floor while Sam picked the qeres off his lap and set it on a table.  
  
“So, what, you’re saying I’ve got angel healing powers now?” he asked, incredulously.  
  
“To a certain extent,” said Cas. “It’s doubtful you’ll be able to heal much but small wounds, lesser so if you’re exhausted. It’s important not to push yourself.”  
  
“Yeah, yeah, Yoda,” the hunter finally said, jumping up. “It’s about time I got some powers of my own, huh? Like Mr. Psychic Kid over here used to.”  
  
Sam glanced at him, obviously not pleased at the reference to those years.  
  
“Can I smite demons, too?” Dean asked, grinning like a kid with a new toy.  
  
“Well...maybe not,” Castiel said. “There isn’t exactly a precedent set for this sort of power. It may only be effective for internal use.”  
  
“What’s that supposed to mean?”  
  
“Like...you probably couldn’t heal me?” Sam hazarded, looking at Cas for an answer.  
  
“That’s correct.”  
  
“What!” Dean exclaimed, looking between them. “What’s the point of healy powers if they don’t work on my brother, huh?”  
  
Castiel had the grace to look apologetic. “I’m sure it will be of some use to your brother, Dean. Now,” he continued on, “I think I’d like to perform the ritual.”  
  
“Oh, yeah,” Dean said, finally standing up after making sure his leg was, in fact, healed. “What all are you gonna do to me?”  
  
Castiel conjured a book, and opened it, pointing to...well, one of the pages. Dean peered over to see it full of writing he didn’t even recognize.  
  
“Great, thanks,” Dean said dryly--to Castiel’s amusement. Apparently the angel was finally developing a sense of humor.  
  
“Sam,” Cas said, turning to the younger brother, “I could use your help.”  
  
“Yeah, sure, what do you need?”  
  
Castiel pushed a small sack over to Sam that crinkled with the sound of dried leaves, along with a piece of paper with his ever careful handwriting.  
  
“It goes with the qeres,” he explained briefly. “And I’m sure you know to say the incantation very carefully.”  
  
“Yeah, of course.”  
  
Castiel, seemingly satisfied, turned to Dean. “Take your shirt off,” he said.  
  
“Jeez, aren’t you gonna at least buy me a drink first?”  
  
The angel was predictably confused by the reference, turning to Sam for guidance, but seeing Sam’s smile and shake of his head quickly cued him in that it was just a joke.  
  
“I need to draw sigils onto your skin,” Cas explained, and Dean, obviously eager to get on with this ritual as well, obeyed, pulling off the layers of clothing he’d been donning to reveal the scars that riddled Castiel’s skin.  
  
“I think I’m drawn on enough, don’t you?” Dean said, looking down at his--well, not _his_ , exactly--body. It looked like he was covered in tattoos. The angel ignored his comment, turning to their table which was suddenly covered in materials for a ritual--plants, weird stones, candles, the works.  
  
The first thing Castiel did was unfold and place a sheet on the floor, now stained red with a complicated circle.  
  
“So what’s where that went,” Sam said, raising an eyebrow and glancing briefly at a bed that had one too few layers. Cas looked a measure bashful about it.  
  
“I didn’t want to have to re-draw it if we had to abandon the room,” he explained, flattening it out and gesturing for Dean to stand in the middle of it. The Winchester did, though hesitantly.  
  
“This looks like it’ll be painful...” he said, frowning at the sigils.  
  
“Yes,” Cas answered bluntly, placing materials in measured spaces around the circle. “Though I’m not positive how much.”  
  
“Are we talking like a pinch, or someone sticking their fingers into your leg to pull a bullet out?”  
  
“More likely the latter if you keep insisting on interrupting me.”  
  
Sam and Dean both looked at the angel, surprised--but easily caught his smirk. Sam grinned, and, finished with his task, took a seat to watch the ritual. Dean just scowled, crossing his arms defensively.  
  
He was quiet for once, though.  
  
A minute or so passed, with Castiel mixing things and murmuring spells and altogether being mysterious, even placing certain things in a small magic circle of their own in order to combine them safely, or whatever he was doing.  
  
When the angel finally stilled, looking things over, Dean couldn’t help but speak up,  
  
“So, um...we doing this thing?” he asked, attempting to cover his nerves with bravado. Castiel paused for a moment, considering--then nodded, before the room became dark. The lights switched off and the curtains drew themselves, the darkness still for a moment before the meticulously placed circle of candles flickered to life.  
  
The room was near silent, each beat of Dean’s foreign heart pounding in his ears. Cas walked around, purposely, pouring herbs in places and dripping oil around the edges of the circle and quietly murmuring a few things as he did so.  
  
Then, the angel produced a paintbrush from nowhere, carefully picking up the wooden bowl that Sam had prepared for him and stepping over to Dean in the circle.

He dipped the brush into the concoction. “This will likely be painful,” Cas informed, not even giving Dean time to respond before painting a streak of oil across Dean’s chest--and he was right, judging by the clench of the Winchester’s jaw and sharp intake of breath. Cas hardly even paused, just continued painting the sigils, obviously subscribing to the “rip-the-band-aid-off” approach.

“You okay?” Sam asked, obviously worried at his brother’s blatant discomfort.  
  
“Yeah,” Dean forced out, taking a breath as Castiel stepped out of the circle again. “Just, you know. Burns. A lot.”  
  
“It’s going to get worse,” Castiel told him, not even looking up from the book that was now laying open in his hand.  
  
“...oh. Well, thanks for the warning.”  
  
“Of course,” Cas said, and stepped up to the edge of the circle, beginning to recite a ritual in a deep monotone. Dean was still for a minute, visibly tense, before the oil on his skin started steaming, apparent for only a moment before Dean let out a strangled curse--  
  
“Son of a _bitch_ \--”  
  
Castiel looked up, face a measure worried, but offered no apology in lieu of continuing the recital.  
  
“Dude,” Sam said, rising out of his chair a measure.  
  
“No--no, I’m fine,” Dean said through clenched teeth, scowling at the pain he was obviously experiencing. Every inch of skin that the oil was touching seared red, rising up in a way reminiscent of the handprint on his proper body.  
  
All at once, Castiel stopped, shutting the book.  
  
Dean panted, sweat dripping down his skin.  
  
“Well?” he asked, before passing out.  


* * *

  
  
When Dean woke up again, he was lying in a bed. The room smelled like smoke and herbs, which served to jog his memory about what had happened.  
  
The hunter sat up, maybe a bit too abruptly, his head going fuzzy a moment, and examined his hands-- _his_ hands, not Cas’s, or Jimmy’s--and gave a sigh of relief.  
  
“Hey, how are you feeling?” he heard, looking up to see Sam sitting at the room’s table with Cas, who was looking a bit out of place in one of Dean’s band t-shirts. Perfectly healthy otherwise, though.  
  
“Pretty awesome,” he responded, grinning at the two of them. “How long was I out?”  
  
“Uh,” Sam went, glancing at his watch. “Fifteen minutes?”  
  
Dean nodded shortly, pleased with the answer, and got up from the bed, going over to the two.  
  
“You two look like you’ve been conspiring without me.”  
  
Castiel glanced at Sam, meeting the Winchester’s eyes--evidently Dean had hit the nail on the head.  
  
“Somewhat,” the angel said, looking back at Dean. “We were discussing why I was attacked in Heaven.”  
  
“Huh? You what?”  
  
“When I returned to Heaven, I was ambushed and expelled with the wounds I’m sure you know very well by now.”  
  
“And you didn’t see the sons of bitches who did it?”  
  
Castiel frowned, the cogs almost visibly turning in his head. “Yes, I did,” he said. “But they were simple ‘foot soldiers,’ taking orders.”  
  
“But aren’t you the head honcho in Heaven right now?” Sam asked, the conversation obviously having caught up to whatever they had been talking about before.  
  
“I had hoped so,” Castiel said, turning his eyes down.  
  
“Well...it’s probably nothing serious,” Dean said...completely unconvincingly. The angel sent him a look, obviously not pleased with the hunter’s sad attempt at comfort.  
  
“Okay, okay,” Dean said, rolling his eyes. “How’re we going to figure out what it is?”  
  
“Well,” said Castiel, “We’re going to have to capture an angel.”


End file.
